


Homecoming

by VampirePaladin



Category: FTL: Faster Than Light (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, POV Second Person, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/pseuds/VampirePaladin





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luminare_ardua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminare_ardua/gifts).



Your homeworld is a nice enough one. It is far enough into Federation space that you don’t have to worry about threats from outside of it, but not so close that you have to deal with the bureaucracy of running an interplanetary country. The sky is blue, which took generations of terraforming to accomplish. There is only a single major space port, but the planet wide jet bus made up for that. 

It was only hours ago that you had stepped onto your native soil. Space was where you worked, but this would always be home. You had not brought much home with you, just a duffel bag with a few things: civilian clothes, some gifts, your DTV loaded with your favorite books and old world video files. It also has the newest hit song from Ozone Bandits, which is a secret that you will hold to your grave. If any of your crewmates found out that you were a fan then you’d never hear the end of their teasing.

You are sitting at the dinner table with your father, your mother, and your sister. Your sister is wearing her Federation dress uniform like you are. Her marksmanship medal is pinned next to the light blue badge that signifies infantry. Your badge is gold and black for electronic warfare. You like to think that you look better in your uniform than she does in hers. 

A holographic display of a blandly pleasant looking news reporter is sitting at his desk. He holds a DTV in his hands that he reads off of. Appropriate holograms appear on his desk and around him to show what he is talking about.

Your father is scowling. His robotic right hand grips his fork tightly. He mutters under his breath, commenting on everything said by the reporter. Most of those words are angry ones.

Your mother is trying not to look anyone in the eye, as if you were all some great beasts that would devour her if she made the wrong move. She takes a bite of lab grown beef covered in her homemade sauce.

“We interrupt this broadcast with a breaking report. Vestal Colony has been attacked by mantis vessels. Federation ships have been dispatched to the colony. Our military advisor says it will take at least twelve hours before the first gunships will arrive.

“Mantis attacks are known for their swiftness and brutality. Survivors are rare and mercy is unheard of. Attacks have been growing more frequent over the course of the last standard year. FNN has contacted the Office of the Premier. We were told that there was no comment at this time.”

Your father slams his fist onto the table. His glass of water tumbles to the floor as the table shakes. You grabbed your bowl, pulling it away and out of smashing range.

“Those mantis bastards have no respect for human life,” your father says. “They need to be dealt with like the pests they are.”

“Dad,” your sister is unable to contain herself “you can’t say that about an entire race.”

“When was the last time you ever heard of a mantis artist? Or a doctor? Every time those damn bugs attack the same thing happens. We send a strongly worded letter to their homeworld. Overpaid suitslugs say that it is just a matter of cultural differences. The Federation finds peace, but nothing happens to the monsters that slaughtered thousands of innocent humans. Then a few years later and there is another mantis attack.”

“So you want us to go to war, huh? Let thousands die on both sides because some mantis renegades decide to do something on their own?”

“They need to be taught a lesson. That’s the only way these attacks will stop.”

“Both of you need to calm down,” you say. Your father and your sister are too much alike. Both get so set in arguing that they stop listening to the other. They can’t see that both of them have good points. “Dad has a point about how these attacks keep happening over and over, but Lils has a point about just how costly a war would be for both sides.”

“It’s not as if two senior citizens and a pair of low ranking officers can do anything about it,” your mother says. “We should just cherish this time we have together.”

Your father and sister don’t say anything to each other for the rest of the meal. The atmosphere is tense, but you know that by tomorrow morning that they will have both cooled down and won’t even acknowledge that they had a fight. You decide to enjoy dinner as much as you can. The conversation with your mother is pleasant.

You always did admire your mother. She was a Federation officer, like you. Unlike you she was an engineer and a shipwright. Some of the ships she designed were still in service. She doesn’t deal well with conflict in the house so you always took it upon yourself to be the peacemaker.

After you finish eating you excuse yourself from the table. You say that you are going to go through some boxes in the attic. No one comments on this as your head upstairs. In a back corner you find an old box. You are glad that it was where you last remembered seeing in it. There are all sorts of things inside of it from your mother’s time in the service. There are her rank insignias, over here is her uniform, and at the very bottom is an antiquated DTV. You turn it on and look through the old blueprints.

You find an unnamed one. It was the last one that your mother would ever design. It was meant to become the flagship of the Federation, but they rejected it saying that it was too threatening and would send the wrong message.

For you, it was exactly the right message. You connect the DTV to a small holovideo transmitter. Even you didn’t know exactly who was going to receive the blueprints. All you know is that it will get to the right people, the people that will save humanity from itself and all the races that threaten it.

Some might call you a traitor. You call yourself a rebel.


End file.
